


the place of little gods

by Lukra (49percentchanceofbees)



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-10-23 17:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/Lukra
Summary: Disaster strikes Clan Lukra: old enemies return, bastions fall, waters part, and the Shade always, always hungers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After suffering visions of disaster, [Achzina](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22424188) consults with [Acrux](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12341839) on how to move forward.
> 
> TW: none.

Achzina woke after a night of troubled sleep, tumbled out of his hammock, and climbed -- with greater care -- down the trunk of the tree that cradled his room in its branches. He found Acrux at the bottom, his enormously long body curled around the trunk. His head, far larger than Achzina’s entire body -- especially in his two-legged shift -- turned.

 

“You could have just flown,” Acrux pointed out.

 

“Didn’t occur to me.” Achzina had been too sleepy to realize that making his way down might be simpler if he had wings. He yawned, then looked at Acrux. “This isn’t your room, is it?”

 

The imperial shook his head. “I had a premonition.”

 

“Oh, me too.”

 

Acrux smiled. “I know. That was my premonition -- I heard you calling out in your sleep. It was distressing, wasn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Achzina’s gaze dropped; he studied the earth at their feet. “I saw … doom. Decay. Upheaval. Trees struck by lightning, crystal melting -- the very ground cracking beneath us.”

 

“‘Us’?” Acrux asked, and well he might: the Oracles received many prophecies that concerned other clans, that they could package neatly and give out to pilgrims like wrapped gifts. But Achzina had never before foreseen disaster so close to home.

 

“Yes. It was here.” Achzina lifted his head, looking around at the quiet forest, the crater that had become his home. “Acrux, I saw my own death.”

 

For a long moment, Acrux stood quiet. Then: “Are you going to leave, then?”

 

“Leave?” The thought hadn’t even occurred to Achzina yet. He’d been mired in the reality of his predictions, treating them as fact -- as a bygone conclusion. But the future was never set in stone.

 

“I had a mate, long before you came to us,” Acrux explained -- at least, his tone suggested that he intended the apparent non sequitur as an explanation, so Achzina didn’t interrupt. “Her name was Telyn. She was gifted with foresight, like you, had visions of the future. One day, she had a terrible vision: I found her in the grips of it, tea spilling from her cup. When she came to, she told me almost the same thing you just did: catastrophe was coming for the entire clan, and for her particularly. She was going to die.

 

“Unless she fled, she told me. And so she did -- ran out of our quarters that day without a word to anyone else and never came back. Not so much as a word from her in all this time. Not long after that, the disease Zeal tore through our clan. We lost half our number, dead or disappeared.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Achzina said, automatically.

 

“It was a long time ago,” Acrux said, by way of mitigation. His big golden eyes fixed on Achzina. “But Telyn lived, as far as I know. She saved herself. Do you intend to do the same thing?”

 

His tone was even, neutral; Achzina couldn’t tell whether he supported the idea or abhorred it. Indecisive, Achzina said, “If it would even save me …”

 

“It would,” Acrux said, at the exact moment that Achzina’s own gift informed him of such.

 

Achzina closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of his vision -- he hadn’t even really processed it yet, let alone thought about what to do about it. “I wouldn’t want to abandon you all.”

 

“Did you see yourself saving us?”

 

Achzina shook his head. He hadn’t foreseen any details of his own death -- its circumstances, whether it was heroic or ignoble, whether his presence would make any difference to the rest of the clan’s survival -- only that if he stayed, he would die.

 

Acrux’s voice softened a little, going from impersonal to slightly comforting. “Even if you did, none of us would ask you to die for us, Achzina. If you have a chance at survival, you should take it.”

 

It was an easy choice, Achzina supposed. “I have to talk to Aridatha first, but … I think I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meditations of a [strange thing grown stranger](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=23816245).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts.

He was empty.

 

They’d reached inside of him and scooped out everything that mattered without even the decency to destroy the shell left behind.

 

For a while he considered doing so himself, but one thing held him back: work left undone. Sinners left unpunished. They had hollowed him out and gone back to their filth self-satisfied, false smiles wide -- their filth pooled in his home, his sanctuary, his  _ observatory _ .

 

It was not revenge, though they had committed the greatest possible crime against him; they had stolen his lord’s gift, forever torn from him the only thing worth having.

 

But it was retribution, not revenge -- punishment not for any earthly crime but for spitting on the name of his god, of all gods. For taking a sacred place and defiling it, for taking a sacred  _ soul _ and ripping it apart. He had to stop them. He had to end them, preferably screaming.

 

How? He despaired for a time. They had taken from him every power, every weapon; he was abandoned, useless, broken. Even with no intention of suicide he almost perished several times, the world newly cold and hostile to one so small and empty.

 

But in emptiness there was power. He didn’t expect it -- didn’t expect the void inside him to reach out, to come alive, to hunger. At first he was afraid, weak. He knew the stories, the ancient scrolls, the half-whispers around firesides that drew everyone closer to the light, casting fearful glances over shoulders and up at the dark between stars. But stars needed the dark, and he knew his lord’s kinship with it, and he took it in. It whispered, a soft voice he never could have heard with all the noise and sparkle of his gifts wrapped around him, and he listened. In listening, knowledge; in knowledge, being. He knew it, it knew him, and they were one.

 

Emptiness could be power. Hunger could be a weapon.

 

Revenge could feed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Geras](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=6947922) and [Kelsus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=6993741) watch in horror as catastrophe strikes Clan Lukra, impacting [Saria](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26410994) and [Luna](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=13513042); then Geras searches the rubble for the Starwood Chronicle's members: [Cypress](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=20456151), [Aleru](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31644489), [Isildur](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24321014), [Calana](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24701442), and [Illyan](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23593453).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death, some gore, corpses

The clan first knew something was wrong when Saria started melting.

 

Melting more than usual, that was.

 

“Uh, Frip?” Geras said. “Is she supposed to do that?”

 

“You know those times when I don’t answer perfectly reasonable questions?” Frip said. “This is one of those times.”

 

Geras regarded Saria with some consternation. She didn’t know the guardian -- or vaguely guardian-shaped creature -- very well. No one did. Nominally, Saria was one of the guard; nominally, Saria spent most of the time patrolling beyond the Inner Sanctum, on the lookout for threats. In truth, no one really inquired as to what she was doing as long as she did it  _ somewhere else _ , where they didn’t have to deal with her. If she were capable of communicating, she chose to do so only with Frip, and she rarely appeared in the Inner Sanctum. Any threats she had encountered on her patrols, she had dealt with without consulting Lioska or Aridatha.

 

“Is she in pain?” Luna asked from beside Geras. Saria now resembled a large, quivering black blob in a spreading pool of oil more than any kind of dragon.

 

“Yes,” Frip said grimly, “but not for long.”

 

Geras had her mouth open, ready to ask exactly what Frip meant -- no matter how futile the questioning -- when Saria exploded, bursting outwards in a shower of black goo. It splashed into Geras’ mouth and across her face as she recoiled, wings twitching in her distress, blinding her. As she wiped it from her eyes, she heard Kelsus -- perched on her head as usual -- say, “Oh, disgusting,” the words made almost amusing by the lack of inflection in his fae voice. Frip, of course, remained untouched, her white hood pristine.

 

“At least it’s harmless,” Geras said, and then she turned to see Luna’s face dripping off. Her mouth hung open as her flesh sizzled, her eyes wide and horrified -- until a black drop fell into one and burned it away. Her teeth shone bone-white through her dissolving skin. 

 

All of this without even a scream; finally Geras heard a horrible clicking emerging from Luna’s throat as her webbing started to fall away, a “ka … ka … ka …”

 

_ Cavern _ , Luna realized, her Charge, who had been riding on Luna’s back, but Geras couldn’t muster the stomach to even look for him. But the thought that she had to do  _ something _ finally unfroze Geras; she looked around in a panic and screamed, “Nesita!”

 

“She can’t help,” Frip said quietly. Then, almost whispered: “Luna’s in pain too. You could do something about that.”

 

Geras whirled on Frip, feeling tears well up in her eyes as a mixture of disgust and rage and horror roiled her stomach. “What the Shade is wrong with you? Do something! You can help her, can’t you? You can do anything!”

 

“I can help,” Frip agreed, her eyes empty. “I can make the pain stop.”

 

Frip waved a claw, and Luna fell down dead.

 

“Frip!” Geras cried, outraged. She lunged forward automatically, even her even temperament stretched to violence at the sight of one clan-mate killing another, though she didn’t know what she intended to do once she actually got her claws on Frip.

 

She didn’t have to figure it out: Frip danced easily out of her grasp, silver wings flashing. “She was going to die anyway, Geras, just slower and worse -- you should move.”

 

“Oh no,” Kelsus said in monotone -- it suddenly occurred to Geras in a panic that if the liquid had burned away Luna’s flesh, what might it have done to him, so much smaller; but he didn’t sound hurt -- as a horrible cracking came from the tree under which they stood. Geras turned her head to see the black liquid eating through its trunk as it had eaten through Luna, the tree groaning and shivering as the reduced trunk struggled to bear its great weight. It was coming down.

 

For a moment Geras’ thoughts flashed in several directions. Rescue -- who might be above? She didn’t know; she’d long since lost track of who lived where, with people leaving and entering the clan. Could she hold it up? Geras was strong, but the trunk was thicker than her body at the base and towered so far above her. No, she’d just get hurt, and she had Kelsus to think about -- the best she could do was get out of the way and shout a warning as it fell.

 

So she did, watching with horror as the forest giant toppled towards one of the nearby trees -- too late it occurred to her that she could have at least tried to influence its fall, to push it away from inhabited areas. “Watch out! The tree’s coming down!”

 

With a great crash, the tree -- and, of course, the dwellings nestled in its branches -- collided with the next tree over: the Starwood Chronicle’s building. The newspaper’s home shook, cracked, and went down. It slammed into part of the hoard structure, taking that down with it, and the branches scraped against the crystal ridge itself on their way down. The ground trembled with the impact.

 

Geras stood frozen a second before kicking into gear: she had to act. She could hear shouting and screams from all across the Sanctum now, but she was closest, and she might be the only one with any idea of what had just happened … Well, not the only one.

 

“Kelsus?” Geras said, hesitantly. “Can you, uh … ?”

 

She found herself loath to send Kelsus away in the middle of a crisis -- last time the clan had faced a disaster, they’d nearly lost him; in fact, they had lost him. Still no one knew how Frip had brought him back, but she had made it clear not to expect her to do it a second time.

 

But Kelsus understood Geras too well: “Go get Aridatha, Nesita -- get help? Sure.”

 

He fluttered away before Geras could stop him, and she found her chest tightening alarmingly as she watched him go, swamped temporarily by an almost overwhelming urge to follow him, to protect him --  _ oh _ .  _ He’s … I’m … oh.  _

 

She couldn’t deal with that fact now, however, so she turned to the fallen trees -- and then turned again, back to Luna’s body. She’d almost forgotten … she moved the body’s wings apart, hopes low, and found a small bundle of feathers shaking underneath. The smell of acid-burnt feathers met her nostrils, and she could now hear small whimpers of pain, but Cavern lived.

 

“Cavern?” Geras said, wrapping a paw around the harpy and picking him up. Her command of his language was not very good -- learning had not been a priority, with Luna and Elain around to translate -- but she knew a few words. She tried to tell him to hang in there, that they’d get help soon, but she wasn’t sure how much of it he understood, and he didn’t seem to react. Geras tucked the injured harpy into her haori and took flight, gliding through air clogged with the dust and scraps of debris the falling trees had thrown up, over the wreckage. “Cypress? Illyan? Aleru? Can anyone hear me? Are you hurt?”

 

“Over here!” A skydancer’s voice: either Isildur or Cypress, unless Elain had somehow gotten dragged into this. No, Geras knew Elain’s voice, even strained as this call sounded. “I’m all right but I, uh, I could use a hand. No rush, though!”

 

Definitely Cypress. Geras had to dig through what had once been canvas walls and now-splintered floors to find him, lying under the trunk of the fallen newspaper tree with only his head sticking out.

 

“The others -- Isildur, Calana -- are they … ?” he asked urgently.

 

“I don’t know. You’re the only one I’ve found.” Geras hesitated -- he didn’t need to know this, but she felt compelled to share, like maybe Cypress could help her make sense of it. “Luna’s dead.”

 

And Saria, but Geras wasn’t sure  _ what _ had happened to Saria, and she couldn’t say she felt too cut up about it -- she hadn’t known Saria like she’d known Luna, and part of her suggested that Saria might be to blame for what had happened to Luna.

 

“Oh. Oh no.” After a moment of closed-eyed silence, Cypress wriggled but couldn’t get out from under the trunk. “You should go help someone else first; I’m fine.”

 

“You’re trapped under a tree!”

 

“I’m fine! It’s not even that heavy. Someone else might be -- ” He cut himself short. “Go look for the others! You can always come back for me.”

 

“Just because you’re fine now -- it’ll just take a moment for me to lift it off you.” Though to be honest Geras herself wasn’t sure about that last point: it was a large tree, at least three times her own diameter, with the other tree lying partially on top of it and pinning it down.

 

But she couldn’t just leave Cypress there, so she got her shoulder under the tree and pushed, and to her extreme surprise, it lifted as easily as if it had been made of balsa wood, bouncing a little against her shoulder. Cypress scrambled out from under it, apparently completely unharmed.

 

“Wow, that’s got to be heavy -- what’s that goop on your face?”

 

“Saria,” Geras said, grimly, putting the tree down. “It killed Luna, killed the tree, but I’m fine.”

 

Cypress frowned. “How odd. But -- we should look for the others.

 

They found Aleru’s body first, wings pierced by branches with a thick one impaling her through the chest, blood staining the canvas beneath her, a mess the likes of which Geras had never seen before -- until today, and Luna. Geras turned her head away, but Cypress couldn’t stop staring, not until she pulled him on as well, reminding him that others might still need help. 

 

Isildur they located as they moved down the length of the tree, into what had been its higher, thinner, branches: she was alive, dazed and in pain, with a broken foreleg and twisted wing. They extricated her from the wreckage where the tree had collapsed into the hoard, scattering myriad items everywhere, and Geras crouched so that Cypress could help the injured skydancer onto her back.

 

“Nesita will be able to fix this easily,” Geras told Isildur by way of comfort. “Watch out for Cavern; he’s in my haori.”

 

Isildur laid her head down on Geras’ back, clearly exhausted. “We will be visiting Nesita immediately, then, I assume?”

 

Geras hesitated, looking at Cypress, who said, “We still haven’t found Calana or Illyan.”

 

Isildur raised her head. “And Aleru is … ? I see. Well, we had better keep looking, then.”

 

Though they searched and called, they found no sign of Calana, and only Illyan’s cracked pearl, which Cypress picked up and took with them. “In case she shows up and wants it back,” he said quietly, clearly aware of the implausibility of that scenario. It hurt to call an end to the search, but they’d covered all the ground they could here at the fallen trees, and they might be needed elsewhere -- there had been shouting across the Sanctum, mostly quiet now, but a desolate quiet; and Kelsus had not returned. They needed to find Nesita.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The archmage [Bartos](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=7080788) notices some strange magic at play in the Inner Sanctum, but quickly finds himself distracted by [Wanderer's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=8468702) suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death

About a minute before the distant sounds of destruction reached him, Bartos noticed a change in the ambient magic of the Inner Sanctum. Something new had entered the area, an element that was not actually _something_ so much as it was _nothing_ , a lack, a hunger. It reminded him, as far as it reminded him of anything he’d ever seen, of Saria … or of the rift that Barholme had used to try to kill Elain and Achzina. This, too, represented a draining of magic, a consumption, but in a way entirely different than Barholme’s previous spell. This was more muscular, more active. The rift had functioned within the rules of Arcane magic that Bartos understood; this new element did not.

 

His reaction, of course, was curiosity, and he had just pulled open a scroll to start recording his magical observations when the screaming started.

 

 _Shade_. (An ironic thought, in hindsight, but he had no idea at the time.) He quickly exited the library, looking for the source, though he wanted the noise to stop more than he really wanted to help.

 

The closest cry of pain came from directly upstairs, and as Bartos half-flew, half-climbed up to the second level, he found Wanderer sprawled awkwardly over the soft cushions that filled his living space, where the coatl liked to lounge like the hedon he was. This time, however, Wanderer was not lazily relaxing. He was dying.

 

“Wanderer?” Bartos said, shocked to his core as few other things in his life had ever shocked him. Even during the clan’s last catastrophe, the Zeal outbreak, none of the dragons who had died had been especially close to him -- except Zura, Wanderer’s foster mother, who had vanished in the chaos.

 

Zura and Bartos had raised Wanderer together, Bartos seeing the exercise as an opportunity to learn the coatl language. This had, of course, left the three of them rather attached to each other, but Bartos -- and Wanderer, for that matter -- had come to resent Zura’s tendency to cling to them, leaving her still more isolated in a clan that did not speak her language. As a result, Bartos had barely mourned her.

 

Wanderer, however … Bartos would be the first to claim disinterest in the younger dragon, to say that he found his relationship with Wanderer a distraction and a waste of time. He said the same about most anything that took him away from his studies. Wanderer, however, persisted in offering Bartos his affection, which, Bartos would have to admit, was not entirely unpleasant. He might suffer somewhat from Wanderer’s manipulative personality, which apparently only Bartos could rein in. But now, watching Wanderer in pain -- Wanderer dying -- a panic the likes of which he had never known seized the usually unflappable Bartos.

 

“Wanderer,” Bartos repeated, leaning over the coatl’s head, his claws just short of touching feathers. “Wanderer, say something.”

 

Shadow eyes rolled towards Bartos. “Bartos? Please … help me …”

 

“I will,” Bartos promised. He was no healer like his mother, but with no physical wounds, Wanderer was clearly suffering from some kind of magical effect -- and Bartos knew magic. He ran diagnostic spells, nullifications, wards … but every spell he tried went awry, his magic turning haywire when he applied it to Wanderer, consumed or distorted by whatever effect was draining Wanderer’s life -- by the hunger in the air. Increasingly desperate, Bartos threw his magic into Wanderer, feeling it suck away even quicker than he could replenish it. He could feel his own mana draining, his life increasingly exhausted, but he ignored it.

 

Wanderer’s body trembled, trembled, and then stopped. Everything was quiet and still. Bartos slipped the last of his power into Wanderer’s flesh, but found nothing there, not even the aggressive emptiness that had eaten his magic. It was over. He’d failed.

 

For a long moment Bartos sat over Wanderer’s body. When he moved again, his usual detachment was back in place, and he felt nothing. He would have to make a close study of what had happened, devise a way to counter it, make sure it never happened again. But first he had to report Wanderer’s death to Aridatha -- to inform the rest of the clan -- not to mention investigating the other screams he’d heard, the distant crashes that had shaken the leaves of the tree in which he and Wanderer had lived. Something had gone badly wrong, and though Aridatha had led the clan for ages now, Bartos’ found himself instinctively turning to someone else in a crisis.

 

He wanted his mother.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Barholme](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23816245) returns from [exile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911744/chapters/32503575) and confronts [Aridatha](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22429661).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death

Dozing over her papers, Aridatha sat bolt upright from an unpleasant and ill-remembered dream: something about Zeal, she thought, and how it had once taken so much from her, and the clan as a whole. For a moment she had no idea what had woken her. Then a fae voice from the window said, “Aridatha.”

 

She turned, expecting Aurus or Kelsus, and jumped to her feet when she saw instead a silvery form oddly distorted, his once-radiant scales dulled, his body spindly and eyes turned dark around the edges. The light seemed to bend around him in odd ways, as if he were surrounded by invisible lenses. “Barholme!”

 

The fae bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Do you have anything to say to me, Aridatha?”

 

“Not to you, no,” Aridatha said, and turned her head to call out the window: “Guards! To me!”

 

Barholme didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of facing Clan Lukra’s forces. He simply sighed. “That is a pity. I had hoped you might repent. It wouldn’t change the outcome, of course; that path is set. But perhaps my lord would have mercy on your soul.”

 

Aridatha turned back to Barholme, feeling a snarl rising on her face. “I have nothing to repent, especially to you. I don’t know how you got in here, but it won’t happen again. This is your only chance to leave peacefully, before the guard come.”

 

Barholme’s fins shook in a fae’s laughter. “I’m afraid I will not be leaving peacefully.”

 

Something about the fae, the way his claws twitched, almost sent a shiver down Aridatha’s spine -- but Bartos had taken his magic, and without magic, Barholme was harmless. What was such a little dragon going to do, flap his wings at her?

 

And then Barholme raised a claw and scratched darkness into the air -- not a rune, exactly, more of an ugly slash through which all the light in the room seemed to twist and drain, and it was getting bigger. Aridatha felt herself pulled towards it -- physically, a little, but mostly on another level, as if she were seeping off her own bones into that rift.

 

“What -- ” she said, and the word felt snatched from her mouth as soon as she uttered it; she could manage no more.

 

“You came to my home,” Barholme said, evenly, apparently unaffected by his own works. ( _ How can he be doing magic again? _ ) “You came to my sacred place and took it for yourselves, and I tolerated you, allowed you to build in the name of my lord and live for his glory. And then you befouled that name, turned my temple to a stable for beast-lovers and abominations, and when I went to cleanse it you tore from me my lord’s blessing, cast me out from under his stars -- but there is much more in the night sky than stars. Did you truly think you would go unpunished? That I would simply fade away into the night?”

 

_ I didn’t think you had any choice _ . Aridatha couldn’t get the words out. Her vision was going dark, or perhaps the light in the room was gone, sucked into Barholme’s rift. She was going to die, she realized with sudden clarity, and all she could hope was that Barholme’s would confine his revenge to her, the individual who had handed down his sentence.  _ Don’t let him hurt the rest of the clan … Don’t let him hurt Lioska …  _

 

_ Fight back _ , whispered some corner of her mind, but she was not a warrior or mage; she had no combat prowess, and had never needed it, with Lioska always at her side -- not to mention that she had barely left the Sanctum in such a long time. The Sanctum, supposedly their place of safety … once, long ago, Barholme’s home.

 

_ Fight back! _ Aridatha staggered towards Barholme -- that slash was as large has he was, now, and its pull made it easy to approach him. She reached for him with her claws, twitching her wings for balance, but it was too late: he didn’t even try to move out of the way, just watched her fall.

 

_ Lioska … I’m sorry. _ She didn’t want to leave. But if she had to go, at least she wouldn’t be the last of them; at least she wouldn’t have to someday watch Lioska die. And maybe she’d see Nessa again … 

 

Aridatha died alone, and in pain, under the cold eyes of her enemy. The void devoured her, life, magic, and soul; and then Barholme blinked and moved on. He was not done yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A [new, old face](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=9375181) appears amid the crisis, greeted by [Frip](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=18041467).

It had been a long time since Sovari had snuck unnoticed through the Inner Sanctum of Clan Lukra -- longer than the name “Inner Sanctum” had applied, in fact. But she could still do it; the memory remained in her new muscles. Her stealth was not only a part of her but very nearly the only part of her that had lingered this long.

 

Because most of her had not survived the last time she’d heralded disaster here; but something had never left, and now as the echoes of trees crashing to earth faded away, she rose out of a black pool and looked around, taking in Luna’s body and the acid-eaten broken trunk. There was no confusion in her ice-white gaze: she knew exactly what was going on, and what she had to do.

 

“This will be interesting, won’t it?” Frip said, perched on the fallen tree.

 

“Yes, it will.” Sovari climbed up next to her, unsurprised that Frip had seen her. No one else would -- not until it was time, anyway.

 

“We probably won’t speak to each other much from now on out,” Frip said. “Not directly, anyway -- no point. And I already have enough explaining to do, after Luna. Have to say, I don’t envy you.”

 

Sovari shrugged. “Could be worse.”

 

“Of course. Not everyone gets a second chance.” Frip rubbed her chin with a claw. “Though there are some others who  _ could _ …”

 

“They  _ shouldn’t _ ,” Sovari said, vehemence entering her voice for the first time in -- well, forever. She glanced up at Frip. “You’re sworn not to interfere. I’ll hold you to that.”

 

“As you should.” Frip waved a claw. “Don’t worry about me. Just do what you have to do.”

 

Sovari nodded, then hesitated. “How do I get them to accept me? To accept what must be done?”

 

“We’re still working on the details. But you’ll know as soon as we do.” Another wave. “Go on. Enough stalling -- you need to get started. Try Nesita first -- Kelsus, Geras, Bartos, and Cypress are all headed for her, so you’ll only need to round up Delemont.”

 

“And you?”

 

“I’ll be there when you need me, but not before. Wouldn’t want to ruin your dramatic entrance.”

 

Another nod. Without wishing Frip farewell, Sovari spread her wings and spiraled up into the trees. The Inner Sanctum’s layout hadn’t changed that much since Sovari had last walked among Clan Lukra -- since Sovari had  _ died _ . Nesita had always lived by the nesting grounds, and those wouldn’t have moved.

 

Sovari reached the nesting grounds before Kelsus, before Bartos or Geras and Cypress. Nesita stood alone, wings spread over the nests full of eggs, ears pricked and head tilted with worry: she’d heard the screams and crashes, felt the magic in the air convulse -- she knew something had gone badly wrong, but she didn’t dare leave the eggs in uncertain circumstances, however much she wished to help her clan. 

 

Perched on a tree limb above Nesita, Sovari decided to wait for the others to arrive before announcing her presence. They would want explanations, and she didn’t want to have to repeat herself when she told them how to save their clan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As ripples of catastrophe spread outwards, [Elain](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23355668) faces the literal collapse of Clan Lukra's beastclan village -- and then finds herself interrupted by the mysterious appearance of a [stranger](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20100821) in the Inner Sanctum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: background character death

When the world went mad, Elain was standing in her own dwelling, talking to two miths about their chances of getting ransomed back to their own tribes. One of them fell stricken immediately, and it was only when Elain and the other went to carry her to Nesita for treatment that she started hearing the screams and learned the full scope of the disaster. As Elain stood in shock with the mith in her arms, watching maren and centaurs fall ill, one of the great star wood trees crashed into the hoard to her right, and that shuddering impact made the entire built-up structure of beastclan dwellings -- centaurs on the bottom, then longnecks, with harpies and talonok on the top, and the others fit in wherever suited them -- tremble and break. Elain could do nothing as rooms slide down over each other, collapsed in on themselves, or fell out of the building entirely. Chunks of wood and canvas rained down. On their side of the fence, the non-thinking familiars brayed and screeched. A stack of harpy nests crushed Elain’s own home. As the dust settled, Elain felt the mith she held stiffen and die.

 

_ I -- I have to do something _ . Carefully, respectfully, Elain set down her burden and called in Centaur, “Everyone, if you can move, get away from the building, in case more comes down. If you can’t move, call out and someone will come get you. Help the people near you but make sure to get out yourself!”

 

She repeated herself in Harpy, Longneck, and Serthis, and beast-folk started to straggle towards her, many injured or aiding injured friends. They hopped the fence separating the beastclans’ village from the rest of the Inner Sanctum to get a safe distance from the broken dwellings -- Elain doubted Aridatha or Lioska would mind, under the circumstances. Some of the beast-folk came to speak to Elain, telling her who was missing, who they couldn’t find, where they thought people were trapped, or who had been dying before the building even came down. Elain did her best to comfort them, assuring them that they’d search the rubble for anyone trapped as soon as they possibly could. “I just don’t want more people to go in there and get hurt. Let’s get some nice strong dragons to lift that stuff.”

 

When she said “nice strong dragons,” she meant Geras, and she decided that as soon as everyone seemed to be out, she’d go looking for the guardian -- she told the gathered beast-folk as much. With some relief, Elain saw Fee approaching her -- she could send the Serthis to find her bonded dragon and not have to go herself. Before Fee could reach her, though, Elain found herself distracted by another commotion, as something launched itself out of the now debris-clogged stream beside them, hissing and shrieking.

 

“It’s a dragon,” said someone in front of Elain, when the hissing, shrieking, wet bundle landed on the streambank. Instantly, the beast-folk parted before her to leave a clear path between her and the … dragon? Internally, Elain sighed. She  _ was _ the beast-folk’s liaison with the dragons; that meant that dragons were her problem, even strange dragons who burst out of shallow streams in the middle of a disaster.

 

“Fee, can you go find Geras? Tell her what happened and that we need her help,” Elain said first, speaking over the heads of a couple talonoks -- she’d been in her dragon form for most of this, too busy and alarmed to shape-shift, but now she shifted into a centaur. Fee nodded and slithered off, and Elain turned to the new dragon.

 

A spiral, mostly teal, coiled and shifted on the bank, his long body floating through the air in an unnatural fashion. Elain narrowed her eyes:  _ All right, we all have magic, show-off _ . As she approached, his Light-gold eyes fixed on her, his expression displeased. He demanded, “What have you done?”

 

“Nothing!” Elain snapped, surely making a first great impression, but she found it deeply offensive that the spiral would accuse her of causing this disaster, when her own community had already been so deeply affected by it -- her home destroyed, her friends killed. “What did  _ you _ do?”

 

The spiral tilted his head, apparently considering this. “I have become.”

 

“Become what?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Elain shook her head, frustrated. “Do you know what’s happening? Were you part of this?”

 

“Hunger,” the spiral said. He turned his head towards the trees. “Someone has unleashed great hunger, and it will devour everything unless someone stops it, and I do not know how. But I must do something; I will not sit and wait to be leeched away. So I am here, and I will help. What should we do?”

 

“I don’t know,” Elain admitted. She decided not to inquire further as to how the spiral had come to be here, though strange dragons were  _ not _ supposed to show up unexpectedly in the Inner Sanctum. If he could help, then he was welcome -- unless, whispered a suspicious voice inside of her, his appearance here was the cause and not a result of whatever horror killed miths and brought down trees. But even if he were, what could she do about it? Either way, she was more concerned with the beast-folk; she would like for this spiral to no longer be her problem.

 

“Then who knows?” the spiral asked, his line of thought almost echoing Elain’s own.

 

“Aridatha,” Elain said. “Go find Aridatha -- she’ll be able to figure out what to do with you … I mean, what to do.”

 

She gave him directions to Aridatha’s quarters, a description of the pearlcatcher, and sent him off. Then she turned back to the beast-folk and decided: “I’m going to go back in -- carefully -- and look for survivors. Any volunteers to join me?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking a solution to the unfolding disaster, [Kelsus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6993741) looks first to [Aridatha](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22429661), but finds her already lost. Then he turns to [Nesita](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6928626). On his way to find her, he meets a [stranger](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22429661) and tries to help [Machine](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24312493). As Kelsus and Nesita confer, [Bartos](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=7080788) arrives to identify the force they face. Even Bartos has no idea how to stop it -- but [Sovari](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=9375181) does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death, slight gore

There was no chance that Aridatha hadn’t realized yet that something was happening, not with the crashes and screams ringing through the Inner Sanctum, but Kelsus hoped that she would still be in her quarters, as otherwise he would have to search for her. He flew in through the window, her name on his lips, and then stopped short at the sight of her -- her body. Really, he knew the truth as soon as he saw her lying on the ground, limbs twisted awkwardly, looking small and huddled, but he had to make himself go to her anyway, calling, “Aridatha? Aridatha?”

 

He twitched her hood away from her face and saw her eyes, open and glassy, and the breathless stillness of her whiskers. His eyes widened and his fins wilted, as small as they could possibly get. “Aridatha …”

 

Kelsus had never seen a dead dragon before: those who’d fallen to Zeal had left no corpses behind, and he himself had been … Well, he didn’t like to think about that, and he couldn’t remember much of it.

 

After a long moment standing frozen -- he didn’t know how long -- Kelsus remembered that Geras was counting on him to get help. Immediately he raised his head, spread his wings, and flew back out the window. He didn’t even think of looking for Lioska, who lived directly below Aridatha’s quarters; if things had gone haywire, if Aridatha was gone, then it was time to go back to the clan’s roots, to go back to Kelsus’ first instincts. He needed to look for Nesita.

 

As soon as Kelsus left Aridatha’s quarters, however, he -- almost literally -- ran into a stranger: a blue spiral whose path through the air clearly relied more on magic than his wings.

 

“You are not Aridatha?” the spiral said, as Kelsus went to fly past him -- he didn’t care that there should have been no strangers in the Sanctum, not after seeing Aridatha dead, though if he’d been thinking more clearly, maybe he would have connected those two points.

 

“Aridatha’s dead,” Kelsus said shortly, and kept flying.

 

The spiral followed him. “Then who am I to speak to?”

 

Kelsus would have flicked his fins in a fae shrug, but they remained too tightly wilted to move. “I don’t really care.”

 

“Hmph.” The spiral soundeded offended, but Kelsus didn’t care about that either. As Kelsus continued to fly across the Inner Sanctum, the spiral followed him, and Kelsus didn’t care. He saw evidence of destruction everywhere, wreckage and -- that was Machine, lying face-down in the stream that crossed the Sanctum.  _ That _ made Kelsus pause: he hovered for a moment, wondering if he should stop and try to help Machine. The pearlcatcher looked dead, but if he had only fainted in the worst of places and now risked drowning for lack of aid … 

 

“ _ He _ is dead,” the spiral said, but Kelsus did not trust him, not until he fluttered down to Machine’s side and saw that half his chest had dissolved into black ooze which the stream struggled to wash away. The spiral, who still followed Kelsus, tsk’d. “See how I suffer? Much more of this and I shall be undone.”

 

Kelsus didn’t ask what the spiral meant; he didn’t care, except to briefly think,  _ how  _ you  _ suffer? _ His fins hurt from curling so tightly in on themselves. Until he reached the hatching grounds, he kept his eyes up, avoiding whatever sights might pass below. Then, finally, he looked down to find Nesita standing amidst the nests, her hackles raised. Something unwound in Kelsus’ tiny chest: he had been afraid to even admit that he might find Nesita dead as well, but of course she was fine. They would not be a clan if Nesita were not all right. 

 

“Kelsus?” she said, raising her head, and he found himself throwing his body onto her back rather than landing on one of the nests as he’d intended.

 

It took a moment in that warm fur before Kelsus could say anything, and in that moment that cursed spiral said, “Aridatha is dead, apparently.”

 

Kelsus felt Nesita shudder under him. He poked his head out of her fur and, so that she could get all the bad news at once, said, “And Machine. And Luna, and Saria -- Saria became this  _ ooze _ , and it burned away Luna’s … They’re both gone. Two trees collapsed, too. Geras is looking for survivors.”

 

Nesita bowed her head and remained silent for a long moment. “I see. There is strange magic afoot, afflicting the Inner Sanctum -- at least, I hope it is limited to the Inner Sanctum. I don’t know what to make of it.”

 

“Shade.” That came from Bartos, who staggered into the nesting grounds not seeming to notice that his usually well-kept fur was wet and tangled, spotted with twigs and leaves. He’d lost his spectacles, and his eyes looked unfocused. “It’s the Shade.”

 

“Bartos?” Nesita said, some deep horror in her voice.

 

“Wanderer is dead.” Bartos stopped and looked down into one of the nests. For a long moment, he said nothing more.

 

With Kelsus still on her back, Nesita went to Bartos and wrapped a wing around her son. She nuzzled his side with her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bartos.”

 

The annoying spiral cleared his throat. “You were saying, about the magic?”

 

“I thought the Shade was just a legend,” Kelsus whispered.

 

Bartos shook his head. “So did I, until now. I’d read reports, but they seemed so outlandish … But this matches some of those, and I can think of no other explanation -- at least, none that is not even more unlikely. We may as well  _ call _ it Shade, for we otherwise know nothing of what it is. It is hunger, and void, and an emptiness that devours all that it touches. It is pure destruction.”

 

Silence, for a long moment, and then the spiral said, “We know this. But how do we stop it?”

 

“I don’t know.” Bartos sounded exhausted, defeated.

 

“But I do,” said a nocturne’s voice from above. Kelsus looked up, expecting Frip -- of course it would be Frip -- and found himself flabbergasted to meet Sovari’s cold white eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As one of the guard, [Morgana](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30482645) takes charge when disaster strikes the Pilgrim's Rest. She leads some of the guests, including the bereaved [Orane](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30482645), to safety, then consults with [Lioska](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22151204) and [Ammanas](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33573742), learning that [Treat](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=37023144) and [Boolean](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=37023144) have died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death, child death

Right before everything went bad, Morgana was bored. It was the middle of her shift in the Pilgrim’s Rest and she was wandering around, checking for suspicious activity. She had never quite felt satisfied with Lioska’s definitions of “suspicious activity,” but had long since given up arguing about it. All she had to do, after all, was walk around and make sure nobody was getting murdered in a dark corner or trying to drill through the walls.

 

No one was getting murdered in a quiet corner or trying to drill through the walls. They usually weren’t. Sometimes Morgana thought it was a waste of her talents to hang out in this quiet corner of the Starwood Strand; then she remembered that if she were to move anywhere less quiet, she would actually have to do  _ work _ .

 

And then work came for her when the magic in the air shifted suddenly, and dragons throughout the Pilgrim’s Rest began to cry out, to scream, to panic. Morgana was in a common area when it started and she saw three dragons and a harpy drop on the spot, still breathing but dying regardless: a quick spell let her feel their life-force leaking away -- no, eaten away, and then she had to abandon the spell as that hunger seized on it and threatened to follow it back to Morgana and tear her life from her body.

 

“Everyone  _ stay calm _ ,” Morgana ordered, quickly sending off magical messages to Lioska, Ammanas, and the other guards. She saw at least one of those fail as it skipped across the room in a series of sparks, snapped up by whatever strange force had tried to pull the magic from her, and she cursed under her breath. The remaining dragons and harpies weren’t staying calm, either. A good number of them had immediately rushed from the room; Morgana could hear them shouting and crashing down the hallway. A few had taken shelter behind tables and other furniture, as if they expected further attack, but most of the beings remaining in the room were those whose companions had fallen, crouching over their stricken friends.

 

From among these dragons, a young guardian ran up to Morgana. “You work here, right? You have to do something! My brother is dying!”

 

“I’m not a medic,” Morgana said, quickly composing and sending another spell-message to Nesita. “I’ve called for a healer. Until she arrives, I think we need to be careful -- it may be contagious … ”

 

At that moment a longneck tried a clumsy healing spell on one of his compatriots and screamed as  _ something _ consumed first his spell and then his life. He fell dead even faster than the individuals already on the floor, and their breathing was starting to fall away …

 

Morgana made a decision. “All right, we’re going to evacuate. Carry the sick if you can, but  _ don’t _ use any magic on or near them, unless you want to end up in the same boat. And follow me -- we’re headed down to the courtyard, then out into the market.”

 

Whatever spell had caused this -- she had to imagine it was a form of magical attack, if not one she’d ever seen before -- she had to hope it would diminish as they moved further away from the inn. 

 

As Morgana turned to lead the way into the courtyard -- the Pilgrim’s Rest could be labyrinthine, so they’d need her help to get there quickly -- the little guardian from before ran in front of her. “Please -- my brother …”

 

_ If I get eaten by weird magic, I’m blaming you, kid _ . But Morgana couldn’t say no. The guardian was too small to carry her brother, but Morgana could easily heft the hatchling onto her back, where his sister followed to help hold him in place.

 

“Is that everyone?” she said, looking around. Several of the dragons and beast-folk had already left, not willing to wait for her. And many of the sick had been left behind -- those no one cared about enough to save. That was too bad, but Morgana couldn’t carry them all herself, and she didn’t want to order the unburdened individuals to risk contracting whatever had done this. Some of them weren’t breathing anymore anyway. “All right. Follow me, and I’ll get you out of here.”

 

Morgana felt when the guardian on her back died: he shuddered, and his sister cried out, “Adephon!” Morgana kept moving. There was nothing she could do for them.

 

The courtyard was full of dragons and beast-folk rushing around, trying to get away from the Pilgrim’s Rest -- as well they might, since now Morgana could see parts of the building coming down. It made sense: the inn was held up by magic as much as wood and rope; if those spells failed … Morgana spotted Ammanas and Lioska in the center of the mess and hurried to their side, making long gliding hops through the air to avoid the foot traffic. Every time she did, she felt the dead hatchling start to slide off her back before his sister, flying close behind Morgana, steadied him. Futile, but Morgana could imagine why she wasn’t willing to leave him.

 

Lioska pushed dragons back to create space for Morgana to land, and Ammanas went to take the hatchling off her back. Realizing his state, Ammanas set the guardian down, and his sister began to protest. Turning her attention to Lioska, Morgana left it to Ammanas to comfort the kid.

 

“How many did you get out? How many did you lose?” Lioska asked at once.

 

Morgana shrugged. “Ten dead? Maybe twice that many got out, though not all of them with me -- it got a little chaotic in there.”

 

Lioska noted this down quickly; Morgana could see that the slate in her hands was smudged and covered with hasty scrawlings, quite unlike Lioska’s usual neat writing.

 

“What’s happening?” Morgana said.

 

Lioska shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Better, possibly; you have more experience with magical attacks, do you not?”

 

“It’s … something weird. I’ve never seen its like before.”

 

“Helpful,” Lioska sniffed. “I’ve sent Delemont to get Nesita and any others who can help. Bartos might be able to understand what’s happening better than we can. Or Frip -- I’m sure she knows what’s happening, but I doubt she’ll deign to tell us. The rest of the guard is helping to evacuate the inn and the market.”

 

As if to illustrate this point, Talise emerged from a corridor three stories up leading a flight of smaller dragons, mostly fae and spirals, out of the inn. He waved at Morgana, apparently unperturbed by the chaos; she didn’t wave back.

 

“We lost Treat,” Ammanas said, his voice hollow. Morgana looked up to see the greenish guardian hatchling practically glued to his side. She and her brother were very young to be on their own; probably their parents were still somewhere in the inn, looking for them -- if they were still alive. “Part of the roof fell … She’s gone. And Boolean just collapsed while she was telling me about her travels.”

 

Morgana bowed her head, then looked to Lioska. “What should I do?”

 

“Go back in and get people out,” Lioska said without hesitation. “We seem to be seeing fewer cases of whatever this is further out into the market -- further from the Inner Sanctum. I suspect the attack is concentrated there.”

 

“Then shouldn’t we do something about that?”

 

Lioska seemed torn; her grip on her slate tightened. But she shook her head. “For the moment I doubt there’s anything we can do there, not when none of us know what this is, where it’s coming from, or how to stop it. Here, though, these people need our help. But check with me when you come back through -- Bartos may want your aid, once he figures out what’s going on.”

 

Morgana nodded and turned back to the inn. As she spread her wings, she heard Ammanas tell the hatchling, “It’s all right, Orane. We’ll find your parents soon.”

 

They never did.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Nesita](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=6928626), [Bartos](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=7080788), [Delemont](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=6928627), [Geras](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=6947922), [Kelsus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=6993741), [Cypress](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=20456151), [Sovari](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=9375181), and [Frip](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=18041467) come together to repel the Shade, with [Isildur](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24321014) and [Caligo](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20100821) in attendance.

“You’re  _ dead _ ,” Nesita said.

 

Sovari smiled thinly. “Apparently not. Or, not anymore. With so many strange magics in the air, many things are possible …”

 

“Does that mean Aridatha might … ?” Kelsus asked. Not such a stupid question, when Sovari made the second dragon in their group to come back from the dead, and Kelsus himself the first.

 

“No,” Sovari said, a sour note in her voice. She seemed about to speak, but the others didn’t give her a chance.

 

“How -- ” Nesita began.

 

“What -- ” Kelsus started, at almost the same time.

 

The strange spiral cleared his throat. “If I may -- ”

 

“Enough!” Sovari said, flapping her wings for silence. “Do you want to ask questions all day, or do you want to save what’s left of this clan?”

 

“We can’t do both?” Kelsus asked.

 

“You know how to save our clan?” Nesita said, not without a certain element of skepticism. When Kelsus had returned to them, he hadn’t even known what had happened in his absence. And he had only been dead for a matter of hours. It seemed beyond belief that Sovari should reappear not only with no need to orient herself but with essential knowledge.

 

But they were already beyond belief, and they had no better options.

 

Sovari nodded, then seemed to consider her words for a moment. Nesita almost could have snapped at her for the delay. “The magic at play here has bestowed, revealed -- ask Frip for the theology -- great power among us. Some of us have the ability to contain the Shade, but only if we work together.”

 

“How do we know -- ”

 

Once more Nesita found herself cut off, this time by Cypress, who half-hopped, half-flew into their midst, almost colliding with the spiral in his hurry.

 

“Isildur’s hurt!” he said. “Nesita … ”

 

Geras approached at a slower rate, moving carefully to avoid jarring the silver skydancer on her back. Cypress went and helped Isildur down, and Nesita went to her, pulling away from Bartos. As she did so, she felt Kelsus flutter off her back, finding his preferred perch on Geras’ horns.

 

“You’re all right,” Geras said, in a low rumble.

 

“Not everyone else is,” Kelsus replied.

 

“I know, but …” Geras shook her head; the motion rattled Kelsus, but he had to be quite used to it by now. “We’ll talk later, once this is sorted.” 

 

Nesita bit her lip as she finished examining Isildur’s leg and wing, then told the skydancer, “I’ve good news and bad news. The good news is, your injuries are fairly straightforward, and they should heal well, with or without magic, though without will be longer and more painful. The bad news is that I must leave you without for now … Something’s badly wrong with the magic here in the Inner Sanctum, and I fear casting a spell, even one so simple as a painkiller, would only invite further harm.”

 

Isildur nodded. “I feel it in the air; something is off. Is there anything you can do for me without magic?”

 

“Of course,” Nesita said, already preparing the herbs she always carried -- nothing special, but they’d dull the pain. And she could certainly splint Isildur’s forearm.

 

As Nesita worked, Geras looked down at the smaller dragons. “Tell me we know what’s going on. Tell me we have a plan.”

 

“I do,” Sovari said, and Geras blinked, just now noticing her.

 

“Sovari? You’re -- ”

 

“Dead? So I’ve heard.” Sovari rolled her eyes, then looked around at all the dragons staring expectantly at her. “As I said, a certain group of us will have to work together, including myself. We’re almost all already here. We’re just missing -- ”

 

“Nesita!” screeched Delemont, running into the nesting grounds at full speed and almost comically bouncing off Geras’ side. “Something’s gone bad at the inn and Aridatha’s dead so it’s up to you to fix it.”

 

He turned and blinked at the rest of them, then looked at Sovari. “Oh. You’re back. Huh. You have anything to do with this mess?”

 

“I didn’t cause it; I’m here to fix it.”

 

“Oh, good.” Delemont sat down next to Cypress, who was, Nesita saw with a quick, inappropriate flash of amusement, taking notes.

 

“What’s going on at the inn?” Cypress asked.

 

Delemont shrugged. “Bunch of people died.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said a familiar voice. “Lioska has it well in hand; there’s nothing you can do there.”

 

“ _ Frip _ ,” Geras hissed, raising back on her haunches and pinning the newly-appeared purple nocturne against the crystalline side of a nest with one claw. “You  _ killed _ Luna.”

 

Frip didn’t blink or give any sign that she felt threatened or even inconvenienced. “I put her out of her misery, Geras, when you wouldn’t. Trust me, there was no saving her. The only choice to be made was whether she’d die quickly or slowly, in pain.”

 

“I  _ don’t _ trust you,” Geras snarled. “Who gave you the right to make that choice?”

 

Frip tilted her head, looking at Geras with a certain challenging note in her expression, and seemed about to speak -- her tongue curled in her mouth as if her answer were a particularly delicious candy -- but Sovari beat her to it.

 

“You’re going to have to trust her, because she’s one of us.” Sovari looked around the group. “Eight of us have been given incredible power, the power to contain the Shade that currently assaults us. We have to use that power together or not at all.”

 

“Which eight?” Isildur asked.

 

“Myself, Nesita, Bartos, Delemont, Geras, Kelsus, Cypress, and Frip.”

 

“Why us?” Cypress inquired.

 

Sovari shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt anyone does.”

 

Geras looked at Frip, bitterly. “I bet  _ you _ do.”

 

“Of course,” Frip said sweetly. “But I can’t tell you. Well, I can give you this: we are chosen because we are the ones who could not die.”

 

“What does that mean?” Geras demanded.

 

“You have Shade goop on your face.” Frip slid easily out of Geras’ grasp in a motion that Nesita thought had to be anatomically impossible. But then Frip never seemed concerned with what was impossible. Smirking, the nocturne continued: “As much as I enjoy dealing out little drops of information to you all, this particular exercise is Sovari’s domain. I’d suggest you all listen to her.”

 

Sovari visibly took a deep breath -- not as collected as she appeared, apparently. “All right. I need the seven of you to link your magic with mine -- I’ll show you how …”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After he witnesses [Zarya's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=8560478) death, [Acrux](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12341839) uses his clairvoyance to identify [Barholme](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23816245) as the agent behind Clan Lukra's suffering and chases after him. In dire straits, he finds his life saved by a divine power, which he traces back to [the little gods](http://www1.flightrising.com/lair/94713/1448478).

Acrux was arguing with Zarya the moment before she died. Neither of their hearts were really in it; Acrux knew that Zarya was only trying to rile him up by not-so-subtly asking about any “deaths in the family,” so he responded coolly. He wasn’t even looking at her in the moment, refusing to give her that much attention; but he still knew the instant she died, because she went quiet, not only to his ears but to his mind as well. Usually Zarya sounded like hunger, and bones cracking, but then she was gone and in her place a void roared in deafening silence. It was everywhere: Acrux couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. Somewhere among the void came a fae’s voice, hissing,  _ A fitting punishment _ and other such things; that gave Acrux something to cling to, and he recovered himself, hearing screams and crashes from around the lair. That voice … he recognized it suddenly as Barholme’s, knew Barholme for the architect of their misery, and chased after it, taking to the air and hurtling between the trees. If he could catch Barholme, maybe this madness would end. But he couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from; it seemed all around him, centered inextricably in the void that filled the Inner Sanctum entirely.

 

_ Barholme! _ he heard, from Aridatha, and he turned and raced towards her quarters, drawing in his wings so that his sinuous body could pass through the trees. But he was too late. He heard her cry out, heard her call for help, and then he heard her die. Even before he poked his head into Aridatha’s quarters he knew that he could do nothing for her -- nothing but avenge her. He began to search the area for any sign of Barholme. Perhaps he would be of more help elsewhere; he might be able to ease his clan’s suffering instead of avenging it. But the idea didn’t even occur to him. A fire burned in his blood, a rage that Acrux had never truly felt before -- his disgust with Zarya had been but its pale shadow. It would not allow him to stop or hesitate; he would throw himself at Barholme until one of them died, would happily break the fae’s tiny body between his talons and wipe him off the face of Sornieth -- if only he could find him.

 

He searched and searched to no avail, and he could feel himself growing weaker as he did, the void around him sapping his strength, a bleeding silence that demanded more and more from him just to keep going. Even when he began to suspect that he lacked the power to destroy Barholme if he found him -- there had been no room in his mind to wonder how Barholme had done this, with his magic sealed -- he kept going. He could not stop.

 

The clan had long since enchanted the air over the Inner Sanctum so that no intruders could fly in, but the magic knew Acrux for an ally, so he easily reached the top of the crystal ridges that surrounded the Inner Sanctum and paused there to catch his breath, labored now that the strange magic stole his stamina. He realized two things as soon as he landed: one, the wards had gone thin, so much so that a hatchling could have punched through them; and two, he lacked the energy to return to the air. Cursing himself for a fool, Acrux clung to the precarious heights of the ridge and desperately scanned the star wood below for any sign of Barholme, though he could no longer say if he’d be able to apprehend the fae if he did. Maybe he could pry a chunk of crystal off the ridge and brain Barholme with it.

 

But he saw nothing: no silver wing reflecting sunlight, no flash of magic. He heard nothing but that horrible silence. As little as he liked to abandon his revenge -- to let Barholme slip away unpunished -- Acrux had problems of his own to occupy him now. His grip on the top of the ridge was starting to slip, his talons weakening, and he could tell his wings were too leaden to get him safely back to the ground. Acrux closed his eyes for a moment, struck by the irony: Barholme hadn’t murdered him in person, but in pursuit of the killer, he’d sealed his own doom. Unless this magic eating away at him ended in the next few minutes, Acrux would fall to his death. He’d try to fall outside the Inner Sanctum, he decided, so his large body didn’t crash into anything important below.

 

And then Acrux heard the singing. A beautiful eight-part harmony rose from within the lair, quiet at first and then louder and louder, driving out the horrible silence, returning life and magic to the air around Acrux -- and to the imperial himself. His grip on the crystal below him tightened, and he spread his wings, elated by his own survival and by the wonderful music. He raised his head, feeling it flow past him and restore him. 

 

_ A miracle.  _ He knew that this could be only one thing: a gift from the gods. And he had to know more.

 

Pulling his wings in, Acrux turned back towards the Inner Sanctum and dove towards the source of the music.

 

*

 

Acrux came up as they dispersed after performing Sovari’s ritual, his face full of wonder, almost inappropriately awed after such tragedy. He looked around the hatchery and said, “Whose singing was that?”

 

“Singing?” Kelsus said. “What singing?”

 

Acrux didn’t answer, just looked around at the group of them with wide, staring eyes, as if he’d never seen them before. Nesita had already stepped away to treat Isildur’s injuries, and Cypress made a beeline for the strange blue spiral. Most of the rest of them simply milled about, stunned by the enormity and strangeness of the magic they’d just felt course through them -- Bartos started scribbling notes -- and by the catastrophe around them. Soon, Kelsus hoped, Lioska would show up and figure out how to start fixing things. But before that, they could all use a moment.

 

“Gods,” Acrux said, and then he fell into a deep bow, his wings tucked behind him, head low to the dirt.

 

Geras coughed uncomfortably. “Acrux, what are you doing?”

 

“You … you don’t know.” Acrux raised his head slightly, but otherwise remained in his bow. “The things I heard, the things I felt -- the things I hear now -- they could only come from gods. Not the Eleven, nothing so distant, but … little gods.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kelsus saw Frip smile.

 

“That doesn’t seem -- ” Geras began.

 

“It’s true,” Sovari said, her voice pitched as if for a larger audience. Several of the other dragons looked up. “We fought back the Shade; can any but gods claim that?”

 

Frip sat up on the nest-crystal where she’d lounged since the completion of the ritual. “Geras, why do you think you survived a faceful of Shade, when it killed Luna? Cypress, you came out from under that tree unharmed; Geras, you knew you shouldn’t have been able to lift it. None of you -- those of you who were called to the ritual -- felt any effects yourself from Barholme’s attack, did you? Ask Acrux, ask Isildur -- they’ll tell you otherwise.”

 

Acrux nodded, and though Isildur frowned, she nodded as well.

 

“That old priest would call this blasphemy,” Delemont muttered.

 

“All the more reason to embrace it, after what he’s done,” Acrux said with sudden bitterness. He glanced around. “I heard his voice. Barholme did this.”

 

“How?” Cypress said. “We took away his magic. Didn’t we?”

 

“I assure you my spells were sound,” Bartos said without looking up from his notes.

 

“Hunger is a form of power,” Sovari said, eyes glittering. “There’s a difference between no magic and an  _ absence  _ of magic, and the latter calls the Shade.”

 

Bartos raised his head, his eyes widening. “Oh.  _ Oh. _ I see … ”

 

Frip clapped her hands together, the crisp sound drawing all eyes. “Let’s not overthink it, everyone. Gods or no gods, someone’s going to have to clean up this mess.”


End file.
